Monday, October 31, 2011

Well, that was weird.

Everybody knows that classic anxiety dream: The one where you show up at the office or have to do some public speaking... and you suddenly notice that you're in the nude.

Well, I finally had the inverse of that dream last night: They wouldn't let me on the nudist commuter bus with my clothes on. I explained that I was in a hurry and could take my clothes off on the bus and could we please get going? But no, I had to get off, disrobe, and get back on.

Why exactly there was a scene involving a nudist commuter bus in my dream, I can't recollect, but that part sure stuck with me for whatever reason.

(Incidentally, the bus was full of smiling passengers, many of whom had no business running around with no clothes on. Which is my biggest problem with "naturalists": Most people don't wear enough clothing as it is.)

EDIT: I meant "naturists", of course. Although Robert Pennock probably doesn't look like Fabio in the buff, either.

20 comments:

I've never had one of those classic dreams. Must be because I was always slapped up the head by me old welsh granny, when I fretted about my appearance. Then she would shout some sound sage advice like the following:

"Nudist commuter bus"? I've heard proposals that everyone be required to get on airliners naked, to save the TSA the trouble of strip searching us. Maybe that's where your subconscious was going with this?

The issue was preparedness and carrying. You were, you feel the nekkid folk were . . uncovered.

The nekkid commuter bus was a Disarmed Victim Zone ("no firearms allowed" invitation to a mass shooting). That was why you had to 'disarm' before entering. And also why the folk already aboard the DVZ were so content -- they forgot the bad guys, by definition, don't follow the rules, and they figured their rules keep them safe.

As for the attractiveness of the average population. That was symbolic as well as actual naturist recreation fact. Naturists take off their clothes because they like the sun, the breeze, the swimming pool, etc. on their skin.

Folk looking to see nekkid people go to strip bars. Folk needing folk to see them nekkid . . often get in trouble. Folk at naturist recreation activities usually learn to judge a person by their character, their smile -- the conscious part of their person.

Attractiveness is still noticed, but measured in different terms when the 'hide part of this so folk will notice how *hot* I am' clothing peek-a-boo show is left behind.

The symbolic part of the bus crowd, was that you respect a few of the reasons not to carry (be prepared/covered against disaster), but most folk don't carry for unattractive reasons.

So the question for today is -- why were you so set on entering the commuter bus to commute to . . somewhere? And why were you interested in stripping off to join the "other" crowd? Going along with the crowd showed you were willing to go along with the crowd; it didn't hold out for a different path.

I am a big, fat, ugly bastard. I do the world a huge favor each time I put on long pants and a long shirt, and in fact never wear shorts, rarely ever wear a short sleeve shirt. I have that respect for my fellow passengers on Planet earth, I expect that respect in return. I am often disappointed in their reciprocity.

Barb and I have spent enough time at nudist clubs to get past the sight of people with "spare tires" that hide their knees and the women with double mastectomies and the pregnancy stretch marks that mimic tiger stripes.

As Brad K. said, people don't go to these resorts for the view. And they look down their noses at people that advocate less attractive people should be covered up.

Carrying in the nude isn't that tough. Fanny packs work just fine. You need someplace to put your keys anyway (the very first time we went to a nudist club we locked our keys in the car).

Back in '93, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I was in the Corps, and doing Red Cross lifeguard certification at the Fort Ord swim-qual pool. Our instructor was not only a Red Cross swim instructor, but a First Sergeant, albeit from the Army, and we had a mixed group of soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines. (You damn right only Marine gets capitalized.)

The end of the day for that training evolution was a 200 meter race. First man done, he's done. Then they do it over again. First man (well, second) done, he's done. There were eight of us, which meant that two poor fools were going to be sprinting 1400 meters through the water.

Well, the start is from the edge of the pool, dive in and go for speed, right? I'm wearing my USMC-issue green nylon shorties in place of an actual, tactical, swimmical suit, and when the whistle blows to start I hit the water in a nice clean dive . . . and my shorts slide right off my legs.

Well oh my stars and garters, as the Beast used to say. I did mention we were a mixed group, but I didn't mention that it was five/three, male/female.

Well, I proved to myself everything Einstein ever said about time being relative, or Mas Ayoob either, because as I felt those silky nylon shorts slide off the end of my toes, I had an eternity to ponder what, exactly, I ought to do.

Part of me, most of me, the Baptist me, the Texas me, the "these folks ain't never seen me in my altogether" me, said, "Curl up like a pollywog and go fishing for your shorts, you fool."

Doubtless it was due to the reduced drag of bein' all nekkid and suchlike, but I stroked out (hey! no comments, mister!) like nobody's business, and finished a hands-span before the next guy. Climbed out of the pool, in my alltogether, and waited while the First Sergeant/instructor clocked everyone else in.

When we were all out of the pool, the First Sergeant said, "Well, you were first, so you can go."

"Can I get my swim trunks?"

"I think maybe that'd be a good idea."

So I jumped back in the water, put back on my silky nylons (hey, none of that, mister!), got out of the pool, hit the showers and went back to the barracks.

I had figured, along the way, that everyone there had probably seen a naked man before---the guys certainly, and the girls, well, certainly as well, and I had the pool as an excuse, and I'd a whole lot rather swim 200 meters at speed than anything beyond that.

The subconscious mind 'speaks' in symbols and metaphors - a kind of Assembler Code Language where no book has accurately decyphered it (if thats at all poosible).

What does it all mean? Beats me. But it IS a kind of a Rorschach Test for any of us comment dwellers if we choose to respond (which makes your post even more fun).

If anybody has any chance to really decypher what it means it would be you or very close friend who has known you personally for many years (and also has a great understanding of the human mind). The benefits of REALLY understanding what it means would make it a fantastic diagnostic tool. Until, that happens, it just means you probably ate too much pizza the night before.